​I’d do anything if I could change what I’m doing on October 18. I wish it was going to be just another run-of-the mill day. A day of puttering about, and not getting much of anything done. Nothing special. Nothing memorable. Nothing painful.
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Cammy Robinson would have been 46 years old this year. She probably would be married, and maybe sending her children off to school. Her parents might be heading over to watch the football game at her house, or even babysitting for her. Her brother might be texting her about coming to see him for a visit. Her cousins would undoubtedly be in touch about her weekend plans.

Instead, they are all congregating at Coolidge Park to walk in her memory. Without her.

I know all of Cammy’s people, her family and friends, would give anything not to be getting up early and lacing up their tennis shoes in a couple of weeks. People coming out to offer their support, and fight this disease, wish this was not something they need to do. But the idea of her death being in vain is not an option.

Cammy Robinson had blond hair and almond-shaped eyes the color of the sea. She was inquisitive and loving and delightful. She was fascinated by lady bugs, and she had a sharp, quick wit. She was a beautiful girl. But, as a little girl, she was not skinny.

In junior high, she was suddenly not included in her clique. High school is tough enough, but she felt completely alone. She ate to feel better. For comfort.

She got heavier. Her senior year, she wasn’t asked to the prom. She believed it was because of her weight, and she decided to do something about it. In college, she began purging, or making herself throw up after eating. And then she barely ate enough to sustain herself. And then she would overeat and purge, in the thick of a vicious cycle.

She was thin when she came home from College of Charleston for Thanksgiving. She had cheekbones, and tiny jeans. You look great! Ooooh, you’re so thin! Keep it up! We all said these things to her. Repeatedly. We didn’t know.

This process of purging and overeating and starvation, all in the name of losing weight, affected her electrolytes. Electrolytes control the heart, causing it to beat regularly, and hers were off kilter because of the eating disorder.

Her junior year in college, when she should have been deciding what fraternity party to go to or what she was going to do for fun that weekend or what outfit she should wear, Cammy Robinson went into cardiac arrest.

Anorexia and bulimia are insidious. Unlike an infectious disease, or cancer, there’s no medicine to cure it. Unlike alcoholism, there’s no abstinence from eating. Food is something we must consume.

Cammy Robinson’s heart stopped beating for the last time when she was 26 years old. It had sustained too much damage from the ravages of the eating disorders.

Her parents wish they’d been more educated about it. They wish they could have seen it coming when she still had a chance. They know now that the earlier an eating disorder is diagnosed and treated, the better the chance of survival.

The MCR Foundation, founded by Jan Robinson, Cammy’s mother, and Ashley Yates, Cammy’s best friend, provides resources for people affected by eating disorders.  Education and early intervention are so important, and for 20 years, the MCR Foundation has been making a difference. Doing good.

Still. I know her family wishes it never existed.

Please join the 20th annual 5K Walk/Run for Cammy’s Cause on Saturday, October 18, at Ross’s Landing. Check in/registration opens and 7:30 a.m. with the race beginning at 8:30 a.m. Kid-friendly, the bounce house, face paint, costume contest (for kids of all ages) and a mutt strut, Cammy’s Cause is not to be missed!

Learn more at www.mcrfoundation.com.

by Ferris Robinson

Saturday, September 13, Coolidge Park will be bustling with booths participating in an event entitled Unity on the Bridge Recovery Fest. Originally, when several recovery-focused organizations combined to raise public awareness about addiction, they held the event on the Walnut Street Bridge and opened it by holding hands and saying the Serenity Prayer as a blessing for our entire city. Now in its sixth year, this is the largest recovery event in central Tennessee. Its aim is to provide information about the resources available to help both sufferers of addiction and their families.

For much too long, suffering from alcoholism was considered a disgrace. Well into the 20th century, it was a closely guarded secret, hidden and denied by individuals and their families for as long as possible. Both the disease itself and the stigma attached to it destroyed reputations and lives, often irreparably. Add to this, abuse of drugs has resulted in a problem that has affected an estimated 32% of American families, a number that continues to grow every year.

The oldest recovery program is the 12 Step program, Alcoholics Anonymous. Known globally now as AA, it was created by Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob Smith in 1935. They worked together, talking to each other about their difficulties in becoming and remaining sober and inviting others struggling with the same issues to join them. Amazingly, the process worked. They found that sharing their problems helped them find sobriety, and today, there are 123,000 AA groups around the world.

In 1939, the “Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous” was published outlining the 12 Steps, which the founders believed would arrest the disease and serve as a pattern of living that could create a healthy future if one were willing to “work the program.” Millions of people since then have found this to be true. In fact, the AA program has made such an impact that Bill Wilson (Dr. Bob died in 1950) was named as one of Time magazine’s Most Important People of the 20th century.

While Bill and other alcoholics were meeting in their home, Bill’s wife, Lois, was becoming aware of just how much his alcoholism had affected her and their whole family. Lois began inviting the wives to come into her kitchen and share their experience while their husbands met in the parlor. At the same time, Dr. Bob’s wife, Anne, was doing the same thing in their Akron, Ohio, home. From these humble beginnings a program designed to help families of alcoholics, called Al-Anon, was born.  Today, there are more than 24,000 Al-Anon groups in 133 countries. Later, Alateen was developed as a part of Al-Anon, specifically for teenage children of alcoholics.

Al-Anon is built on the same steps and principles as AA but has a different focus: the idea that addiction is a family disease. It can affect everyone in the family - materially, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. The Al-Anon/Alateen focus is on those also affected rather than on the addict. They share their own experiences, the common problems that families deal with when living with their loved ones’ addiction. Most importantly, they learn what they can do for themselves to recover from those effects. From these two programs, other groups with focus on specific issues, such as Overeaters Anonymous (OA), Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACA), and Families Anonymous (FA), have begun, following the same principles and steps.

Unity on the Bridge is held to “embrace recovery for those who battle substance abuse disorder,” officials [of the event] said. “This is a day of coming together and celebrating recovery as we fight to save so many lives.”

It will be held from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. with dozens of organizations sharing information on recovery, housing, and mental health services, along with speakers, live music, food trucks, and a talent competition with cash prizes. Everyone is welcome. Sammie Hartman, chairman in 2024, said that the goal “is to make sure that not one single person goes [away] without the knowledge that recovery is possible …”
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by Carol Lannon